


words don't come easy

by corrupted_voracity



Series: topgoro week │ january 2021 [6]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Ailment sex, Anal Sex, At least I hope I managed to write something like that, Belts as restraints, Bottom Persona 5 Protagonist, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Light Angst but with a Happy or Hopeful Ending, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Behavior, Royal Spoilers, Status Ailment, Status Effects, Top Akechi Goro, Top Drop, as in they both think they take a little advantage of eachother, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28784154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrupted_voracity/pseuds/corrupted_voracity
Summary: “I’m going,” Akechi growls huskily into his ear, “to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to remember your name when I’m done with you, Joker.”Distantly, Akira feels a part of him dying.Wait.What?On their way to rescue Sumire, Akechi gets hit with two ailments at once.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: topgoro week │ january 2021 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093454
Comments: 9
Kudos: 380
Collections: TopGoroWeek #1 2021





	words don't come easy

**Author's Note:**

> I tried something a little different for the ending?
> 
> The mild dub con is so light I chose to go without archive warnings. If you still think it should apply, please let me know and I'll go change that.
> 
> Fun fact: This was supposed to be power bottom Joker stepping on Akechi, but I just can't write power bottom Joker to save a life. I've tried and miserably failed.
> 
> **day 6: status ailment**

**“LOKIIII!!!”**

Akira knows Akechi is a bit (a lot) more unhinged now that he doesn’t need to plaster smiles à la detective onto his face each and every day.

Actually, he’s already gotten used to the Akechi that never misses an opportunity to curse his enemies to hell and back while simultaneously threatening to rip their spines out with nothing but his bare hands.

It’s kind of hot. 

Not that Akira would ever admit it.

This time however, Akechi’s call for Loki stirs a feeling suspiciously close to foreboding within Akira. Because it’s even louder and angrier than usual, pressed into a snarl that causes the shadow _Akira_ is facing to falter for a tantalizing second before resuming its attacks.

He’d like to look, but he can’t, not when a distraction could cause him to slip up badly. – they’d been caught off guard when rounding a corner a minute before, blindly bumping into a shadow because they were busy arguing.

Akira can’t even remember about what. Maybe socks. It’s so trivial and out of place that it’d be the perfect reason for Akechi to get worked up about it.

Currently they’re standing back to back, each taking care of the last enemies in order to rescue Sumire from Maruki’s grabby little fingers.

Akira _feels_ Akechi storming off behind him, probably on his merry way to decimate his opponent in fits of gleeful laughter, so Akira shakes off the odd feeling and does the same, using Arsene’s Eiagon to down the shadow before finishing it off with a precise kick of his heels.

He dusts off his coat and adjusts his gloves, about to turn to Akechi and complain about the reasons for their latest fight when a heavy weight suddenly _slams_ into him, knocking every remaining breath out of his body.

Black spots dance in his vision as his head and back harshly collide with a wall. Akira vehemently fights for his consciousness for a few seconds, ears ringing like sirens until mushed sensation and blurred vision finally sharpen into something processable.

Akira doesn’t know how much time has passed.

But he wagers a lot, since Akira’s pretty sure him and Akechi must have skipped several stages of friendship and dates for the other to be heatedly pressing every inch of his body against him like _this_ , both of Akira’s arm pinned above him in a manner that feels less restrictive and a whole lot more suggestive.

“I’m going,” Akechi growls huskily into his ear, “to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to remember your name when I’m done with you, Joker.”

Distantly, Akira feels a part of him dying. 

Wait.

_What?_

He makes a sound between confused and mortified and slightly turned on.

“Crow, what are you-” Akira’s wheezed question ends in a gasp because Akechi forcefully grinds their crotches together, shutting more of Akira’s higher brain functions down at a rather alarming pace and Akira’s absolutely not dying a thousand internal deaths at this very moment. 

There’s more pressure on his wrists now, surely bruising the skin even through the leather of his coat. 

Pinned to the wall by a snarling, hot assassin, Akira feels entirely too helpless.

And the worst thing is, Akira thought about this scenario probably a lot more than he’d like to admit. 

The whole change in attitude that happened over new year didn’t help the slightest.

Though no matter how many times he wished for Crow to just barricade the rest of the Phantom Thieves out of a safe room in Sae’s palace and just have his way with him, Akira can’t help but feel like there’s something _off._

He tries to move his hand, but Akechi is merciless and only hisses at Akira’s meager attempts. 

“Stop struggling, Joker, or I’m going to make you _regret it._ ”

Something’s _definitely_ wrong.

Not only with Akira himself because his own cock that’s already been happily lapping up the attention Akechi’s whole grinding act brings makes a pathetic twitch at those words, but also with Akechi because what exactly caused him to throw his very high regard for personal out of the window and snap at Akira like this?

Sure, the sexual tension between them has been practically graspable ever since Akechi found out a tiny smirk is way more effective at deteriorating whats left of Akira’s sanity than a waxen smile, and Akira had been tempted to just drop to his knees on several occasions already (especially at the laundromat when Akechi _permitted_ him to pick up Akira’s own fucking phone in that sultry voice of his), but even if Akechi suddenly decided to dislodge the massive pole in his ass, this is a bit _too_ fast.

Even for Akira. 

Akechi seems to want to do more with his mouth than panting into his ear since he creates some distance to yanks not only Akira's but also his own mask away, including the beak-like bottom part of it.

Akechi wildly shakes his head to get hair out of his face, looking like one of those stupidly cliché motorcycle scenes where people have absolutely no right to look this hot and good after removing something as unattractive as a _helmet._

And then Akira finally sees it - a familiar hazy, red sheen clinging to the rigid edges of Akechi’s entire body.

Rage ailment.

And if that isn’t already enough, Akira thinks he’s also able to make out a ring of pink outlining Akechi’s eyes in the few, precious seconds he’s able to _look_ at Akechi’s flushed, _hungry_ face before the other lunges.

Akechi doesn’t kiss him or anything, no. He’s just skips right past that in order to fucking _bite_ Akira’s neck through the fabric of his vest. Like removing clothes is a foreign concept for him and he’ll fuck Akira through his pants if necessary.

The notion is kind of hot, actually. 

_Get a grip on yourself!_

But Akira’s thoughts stray and his body convulses at the sharp pressure on his neck, still so distinctive even with a layer of clothing shielding him from the direct impact of teeth. His hips involuntarily buck up against Akechi who only growls, ceasing his grinding motions to shove a leg between Akira’s.

“Snap _out_ of it,” Akira hisses. His voice comes out more of a pathetic whine. Fuck – does he even have more relax gel? He kind of forgot stocking up on items the moment Akechi came back to him on fucking Christmas eve.

Talk about a present.

And then this whole, alternative reality with the dead people beign alive, all of his friends brushing him off like they finally had everything important in their life and didn’t need him anymore – Akira just had _other_ things on his mind.

Akechi isn’t moved by Akira’s attempts in the slightest, only presses him even _harder_ into the wall so that Akira’s completely encased by a heat that slowly creeps into his system. It’s trying to convert parts of his brain to think that what's happening is perfectly fine and he should absolutely just play along, something Akira only partially agrees with.

“Actually,” Akechi drawls against his throat, “feel free to struggle as much as you want. I’ll enjoy putting you in your place.”

He punctuates the last sentence with another bite and Akira can’t stop the low moan from tumbling out of his mouth. 

But the few parts of his brain that are still working in overture on how to get out of this situation get a desperate boost out of it and manage to momentarily break through his dazed state before Akechi gets funny ideas like _kissing_ him.

Although given how _hungry_ the look in Akechi’s pinkish eyes is the moment he detaches his mouth from Akira’s neck, _devouring_ might be a better word.

Fortifying his pitiful resolve, Akira headbutts him.

Hard.

His entire front is suddenly shockingly cold as Akechi lets out a grunt and stumbles backwards, and his forehead is throbbing along with the rest of his body that’s still trying to deal with the leftover sensation of a warm, hard body pressed against it, but Akira’s _free._

Akira doesn’t really know what to do – they’re still in the middle of some hallway in Maruki’s palace, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have an ailment recovering item or persona in his arsenal right now.

He could fight back and try to restrain Akechi, but what good would that do him here in the open? How would he move Akechi _anyway_ if he’s a sexually frustrated, angry mess that seems to be keen on bedding him not so gently?

Only Akechi could somehow get afflicted with two ailments at once.

And he complained _Akira_ is special. 

By the time Akira’s settled on some kind of half baked plan to at least get them out of the open, Akechi’s already recovered, standing in a hunched form a few feet away from him. 

There are a few seconds of penetrative silence stretching between them, only interrupted by their harsh pants. 

Akechi’s shoulders are trembling, the individual joints of his fingers twitching, and together with the veil of red rage flaring around him in uneven intervals, he looks more like an unstable beast on the verge of losing control.

Akira gulps.

He takes a reflexive step backwards, and then Akechi looks up with an expression on his face that has Akira briefly reconsidering his life decisions up until this point. 

“Joker,” Akechi _purrs_ as he straightens his posture with uncanny calmness, possessiveness dripping from the word alone, matched by wide eyes and a wolfish grin that breaks out on his face like a fire, an _inferno_ ignited.

Akira doesn’t wait for the follow up.

He turns on his heels and _runs._

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more adrenaline in his entire Phantom Thief career than in this very moment. Akechi’s practically breathing down his neck as Akira rounds corners and familiar hallways back to where he knows their latest safe room is, his heart thundering in time with his steps, blood rushing so fast through his veins that Akira’s sure he can taste it in his mouth. 

“That’s it! Run!! _”_ Akechi loudly cackles from behind him, and Akira narrowly ducks under a claw aiming for the back of his throat before changing directions again, almost running into a shadow because of that. 

“The chase makes this all the more _fun_!”

Akira nearly gets tackled into a crowd of blissfully ignorant patients when the sterile ground makes him lose his footing.

It’s times like these where he wishes his Metaverse outfit came with normal boots instead of heels.

Akira manages to catch his slip in the last moment and sidesteps, letting Akechi crash into the group instead.

His heart leaps out of his throat as the frustrated howl Akechi lets out behind him, but this small window is just what Akira needed – he can already see the safe room twinkling at him.

He sprints across the room, jumping over several benches before he brutally yanks the door open, knowing he can’t waste a single second. 

Akira’s barely set a foot inside, taking in the white lockers and table when Akechi’s already caught up to him, filling the entire room with such a domineering and wrathful presence that it feels like physical pressure pressing into his lungs. 

Akira only has time to whirl around before Akechi roughly grabs him and practically _throws_ him onto the table. Traitorous arousal punches his gut at the blatant showcase of strength, but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on that because an enraged Akechi is on him in the next second.

Their arms wrestle for a few seconds, grunts and frustrated sounds from both sides filling the room. Akira isn’t a match for the rage ailment multiplying Akechi’s already impressive strength though, and his wrists quickly get pinned above his head again.

“Got you,” Akechi hisses triumphantly, eyes wide open and staring at him like he’s a prize.

Damn his bouldering. Even though Akechi’s biceps _do_ look rather enticing right now, straining against the material of his skin tight suit in an impression of unrestrained anger and lust.

Some of his thoughts must show on Akira’s face – he doesn’t really have much control over it at the moment – because Akechi’s eyes darken from bright pink to a sinful rose red as he leans down, pressing his prominent bulge against Akira’s bend leg during that process and making him painfully aware of how hard they _both_ are. 

“Oh, don’t worry Joker. I’ll thoroughly _use_ you.”

At least Akechi still recognizes him.

Akira flushes and can’t help but lift his knee a little in response, meeting Akechi’s movements with embarrassing eagerness on his side. 

The friction has Akechi raggedly exhaling, and he lowers his head so that impossibly hot breath fans over Akira’s throat, causing shivers to work their way across his skin. 

“I’ll fuck you against every surface of this room.” Akechi licks over his Adams apple, bites at his jaw next. “You’ll be a crying mess in no time, begging me to stop. But I won’t. I’ll take you over and over again until _I_ am satisfied. And I’ll have you know that I’m feeling very, _very_ insatiable as of now.”

Akira groans.

Is Akechi always talking like… this? Or is it the rage and lust ailment? Not that Akira has any experience with that, but he can’t deny that each filthy word steals some of his coherency away to replace it with vastly _different_ things. 

A selfish part within Akira also hopes that he somehow _didn’t_ read the signs wrong, and that it’s not only the status effect coercing Akechi into doing this.

He’ll-

He’ll worry about his pitiful crush and the questionable moral of this situation later. For now, Akira needs to focus as best as he can.

Akechi’s very much rutting against his knee right now. With his restrained hands, Akira’s left to squirm beneath him, unable to do much aside from receiving what he’s being given – which consists mostly of an array of bruises and marks across his throat.

“You taste so good, Joker.”

Akechi's hot mouth goes lower, most likely wanting to give his other body parts the same treatment while he’s busy using Akira’s leg for his own pleasure like a dog in heat. 

There’s a growl of frustration rumbling next to him when Akechi’s mouth meets the restrictive material of his vest again, and Akira only has time to let out a stuttered gasp before Akechi’s free hand shreds it to pieces, revealing the heaving skin underneath.

And Akechi’s eyes are so _hungry,_ staring at the exposed, flushed paleness of Akira’s upper body like a man starved.

“F-fuck,” Akira pants, throwing his head fully back when Akechi descends and aggressively begins to latch onto a spot just under his collarbone, as if wanting to suck his blood through the skin.

It’s entirely too distracting – Akira feels like he’s slowly being submerged into muddy, but pleasant water that seeps into his ears to fill the larger growing void inside his head that doesn’t leave much please for anything that doesn’t involve Akechi.

And he’s touching him only with his hands and mouth only.

What does this say about Akira?

“Do you like this?” Akechi slurs, giving Akira a short respite by nuzzling into bruises Akira doesn’t see, but _feels._ “Me marking you up? So everybody knows you’re claimed?”

Akira knows bruises and injuries like these don’t preserve outside the Metaverse, but at the rate Akechi is practically mauling his neck now, Akira wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’d have to walk with turtlenecks and scarves for the entirety of next week.

He likes the thought a little too much.

And maybe Akechi would too, impeccable gazes turning dark whenever he’s reminded what lies underneath the layers that fool everyone else. Maybe he’d approach Akira with an innocent smile on his lips, accidentally brush the clothing around his neck or maybe slide a deft finger underneath to trace his work, to press, gently, then harshly when seeing Akira’s eyes glaze over, and then-

“A-Akechi,” Akira stutters, not really knowing what else to say. He- he thinks he had a _plan._ It’s quite difficult to remember if your crush is using your own body as they see fit while talking about marks and _claims_ , though.

Akechi’s thrusts have gotten more erratic _,_ and sometimes his hard erection glides by Akira’s knee, but the other is relentless, too caught up in his hunger that he barely cares, simply continuing his actions, claws skimming his thigh as he presses his lips to every available surface of Akira that he _didn’t_ mark yet.

“Joker—” Akechi growls into his skin – except that it isn’t a real growl, more like a dark groan that removes some cotton from Akira’s mind who is left to take in how Akechi’s body shudders in the next second, irregular hip movements slowing down into a languid grind, as if wanting to drag-

It’s so unexpected he willingly stills.

“Did you just cum?” Akira airily asks, and suppresses a small, raspy chuckle forming somewhere inside of him. He doesn’t think he’s supposed to _laugh_ during this, especially when Akechi’s actions in his current state are unpredictable at best.

Akechi lifts his head from Akira’s chest, glaring at him. His eyes are still a brazen pink, the outlines of his form red.

Perhaps a little less than before?

Akechi eyes narrow dangerously. “I’ll be the one to ask that question soon, Joker. Many, many times.”

Akira is reminded that he himself is very much still hard and aroused, the dark promise and even darker gaze making him writhe underneath Akechi. 

He’s also reminded that he came into the safe room with a more or less _plan_ because Akira realizes Akechi’s grip on his wrists has loosened a little, most likely due to the release that still drags across Akira’s knee a little, slowly getting the fabric even wetter.

Before Akechi can recover – he’s still very much hard despite his orgasm, Akira can _clearly_ see that, along with the now very noticeable stain – he quickly pulls his knees up to his chest.

Sends off a little prayer and then half pushes, half kicks Akechi off of him.

Akechi lets out an uncharacteristically cute yelp as he crashes into the ground _somewhere,_ and Akira acts purely on adrenaline, ignoring his wobbly body and addled mind. He quickly descends onto Akechi who’s now on his back, attempting to sit up with a low groan.

Akira simply pushes his head back down again. He winces at the dull sound and the sight of Akechi’s form immediately slackening a little.

Fuck, hopefully that wasn’t too hard.

But this is just what he needs. Akira fumbles with one of Goro’s many ridiculous belts around his arms and manages to get two off right when Akechi starts to stir again. 

Akira hastily gets to work, and hopes Akechi isn’t _that_ strong to get out of the restraints he’s going to put on him.

That should give Akira enough time to find… a _better_ solution.

Maybe he can negotiate items with the shadows outside, something he rarely does because he usually has everything he already has beforehand. 

Akira’s in the middle of trying to figure out how to properly bind Akechi’s wrists together without cutting off the blood circulation when he’s suddenly grabbed.

He’s so surprised that he only manages a quick look at Akechi’s face - he’s recovered way too fast and- oh, he looks _angry_ – and then Akira’s entire world flips and he’s pushed into the ground, head first.

“I’ll give you points for trying,” Akechi hisses from behind him, quickly turning the game around by binding _Akira’s_ hands together at the small of his back with the belts he salvaged before he can hope to react.

The words drip from Akechi’s mouth like liquid fire, splattering onto Akira’s back, running down his sides so that he has no other option than to shudder under the heat of them. 

Akechi squeezes his hip harshly. “But I’ll have you know that I very much prefer to be in control, Joker.”

He finishes with a near purr towards the end. Akira tries to ignore how many levels his stomach just dropped because that was entirely too much for his sanity. 

“In fact, seeing you bound and _helpless_ beneath me is making me think why I'd ever want to see you anywhere else,” A dark chuckle. “Aside on my cock, of course.” 

Squirming, Akira tries to find a way out of his restraint, but he quickly realizes there’s no _room_ and he’s utterly helpless – hands bound on his back, pinned into the ground by an iron grip, a status _empowered_ Akechi that’s much stronger than him intending to fuck him into next week if the erection straining against his ass and his promises are anything to go by.

Akira feels guilty for _wanting_ this.

Does it even count as struggling if he isn’t really making an effort in the first place? Did he even _try_ in the first place, or did he want to be caught like this?

Akira’s reminded _why_ he’s very much struggling with the entire morality debate when fabric rustles, pulling him out of his loose strings of muddled thoughts. Cool air that’s immediately soothed by body heat hits his now bare lower half.

His pants and underwear had been tugged down in one, smooth motion. Hands splay over his cheeks, teasingly skimming over his tailbone once. Akechi’s taking his _time_ now that he knows Akira won’t escape.

He feels terribly exposed like this and knows by the heat expanding on his backside that Akechi’s _staring,_ his gaze solely fixed on what’s being presented, making Akira close his eyes in burning shame. 

“You’re so quiet all of sudden,” Akechi says, conversationally. The sound of a cap opening reverberates impossibly loud, even through their accelerated pants that bounce off each other like rubber. “Is this all it takes for the great Phantom Thief leader to crumble? Some manhandling and _restraints_?”

“Fuck you,” Akira bites back, and immediately regrets it because god knows what Akechi will use the bits of sass against him and exploit it to the fullest.

Though all Akechi does is chuckle, as if he’s either not taking Akira seriously or _knowing_ it’s all hot hair that leaves Akira’s mouth right now. 

He doesn’t know what option terrifies him more, but a cool sensation on the backside of his thighs has him jump – is that _relax_ gel? He feels his tense muscles loosen almost immediately, slackening with a tingling feeling so that Akechi has to hold him up with a grip on his hip.

It occurs to him that he could have checked Akechi’s pockets first. Maybe by getting the other into a brawl earlier. Then again, considering how quickly Akechi overpowered him in a purely physical fight, that would have ended in a scenario similar to this. 

Now it’s too late anyway. Akira can only mentally prepare. 

Akechi spreads what feels like the whole bottle around his entrance and thighs, and Akira wonders why he bothers doing the latter, tries to rake his head around. All he gets is a view of white lockers and brown hair though, so he makes a frustrated sound, slumping back against the floor, closing his eyes against the cool sensation on his bottom half.

“Since you made everything a little _difficult,_ ” Akechi croons, sinking his fingers into the meat of Akira’s ass before trailing lower, “I’ll fuck your thighs first.”

Akira can’t help but squirm a little. Given his tone, it’s supposed to be some sort of punishment, and yet heat collectively pools low in Akira’s gut at the notion. 

Sensing his desperation, Akechi gives a cruel laugh. “Behave and you’ll get off on this, too.”

“Please, Akechi,” Akira pants. He still hasn’t found release, and having Akechi so _near_ him, audibly and visibly ready to claim him in all the ways possible is pure torture when he’s not doing anything.

He’s really starting to get desperate.

“Jokerrr.” Akechi’s rough drawl comes from the depths of hell. “You’re playing with fire.” 

And then he’s draped over Akira, caging him in so that he can only breathe and feel _Akechi_ , so thick and consuming, edges laced with a primal want that causes Akira to meet his movements, wanting to be fully engulfed by this heat, even if it’s for this moment.

Akira feels the tip of Akechi’s cock nudge between his thigh, and then Akechi moves so that it presses through. It’s obscene. It’s nothing but lewd, how the hard length drags between _there_ in lieu of his inner walls. Akechi fucking his thighs and not his hole, and yet there’s something disctinvitely _hot_ about it that his own cock jumps at the sensation. 

Maybe it’s the way Akechi groans – he’s making more noise than Akira does, though that could be because his cheek is squished against the floor. Or maybe it’s because Akechi’s shallow thrusts cause his cock to glide along the underside of Akira’s balls, barely stimulating him fully, but more than enough for trickles of pleasure to accumulate in Akira’s entire nerve system, only compelled by Akechi’s frame pressed so tightly against his.

If Akira’s upper body wouldn’t be pressed into the ground, he would have probably turned to look and see the tip of his head disappear between the flesh of his thighs in regular intervals, making for a debauched sight that's sure to fuel even more arousal. 

All Akira can do is _take_ , flex his fingers around nothing, receive what Akechi’s feeding him in tantalizing bits.

“That’s a good boy,” Akechi breathes down his neck. His breath sounds ragged, _raw_. “Pliant and still, just how I like it. Mine to use.”

_Mine._

He must have made an high, keening sound because Akechi’s next growl resounds right in his ear, enters Akira’s body and causes havoc through its hunger alone. 

“You like that, Joker? Being mine?”

_God, yes-_

Not trusting his voice, Akira only squeezes his thighs, gives a shuddering moan as an answer.

Akechi could probably whisper all sorts of things right now, and Akira’d be open to them all _._

In fact, Akira’s ready to do a _lot_ when a hand suddenly grips his cock and begins to roughly jerk him off. A bit too tight than how Akira usually prefers it, but it’s still so _good,_ the feeling so different from when he does it himself, amplified because smart fucking brilliant wonderful _Akechi_ is working deft fingers around his cock like both of their releases depend on it, and then it _breaks_ and Akira’s back arches and he cries out his name in a broken spell.

He slumps down, consciously feels how his chest heaves, how some of his own cum might have landed on his chin. 

Akechi pants heavily above him. It seems like he’s giving Akira a small respite, enough for him to not feel like the equal of a soft marshmallow that just went through a grinding machine. 

He’s momentarily pressed against Akechi _again_ , feels the hard length of him on his hip – god, Akechi’s _still_ hard? How long- Akira gulps. How long will it take for him to fuck the status ailment out?

He’s already feeling drained and he only came _once._

How Akechi’s able to keep up is beyond him, but then again- there’s still a red haze surrounding him, a reminder that they’re not doing this without external influence.

Akira’s placed onto the table next, back hitting the hard surface surprisingly gently. Akechi cumming really must be extracting the anger and lust out of him if he’s able to put him down that softly, opposed to how he _threw_ Akira over the table earlier.

Not that he really had something against that. 

In the next second Akechi looms over him, all dark desire and sin manifested with how his eyes glow, face flushed with wanton debauchery. Most of their clothes are still on except their masks, but Akira gets the distinctive feeling they’ll lose that in some time.

Akechi nudges his way between his legs, settling his hand on the thighs he previously fucked while giving a cocky smirk. Akira gives an involuntary twitch, feeling sensitive and raw despite not having been fucked directly. 

God give him strength to survive this long enough until Akechi’s gotten everything out of his system.

Akira doesn’t even know _when_ that’ll be, and it makes Akira release a soft groan, squirming in his restraints at both fear and arousal prickling his insides. 

“We’re far from done,” Akechi rumbles, applying pressure to pry Akira’s legs apart. “I promised earlier, didn’t I?”

A flare of embarrassment goes through him. It’s been somewhat manageable before, him not being able to see Akechi as he ate him up with his eyes only, but now he’s practically forced to meet his gaze with how _commanding_ Akechi’s entire presence is, pulling all of Akira’s attention so easily on him that it should terrify him.

And it _does,_ the open hunger he sees on his face which Akechi makes no move to hide. It’s... possibly even more intense than before despite the fact that the aliment should slowly wear off, and it gives Akira this disgusting, tiny little hope that Akechi’s not only coaxed into this solely because of the rage and lust. 

The corner of Akechi’s mouth contort into a grin. “I’ll enjoy making you mine, Joker.”

There isn’t much fanfare this time. Akechi takes only a minute to roughly shove two, then three fingers inside to prepare him, trying to work as efficiently as possible, impatience visibly gnawing at his frame. 

Akira’s weakly moaning for his name by the time Akechi’s forcing his cock inside, splitting Akira open.

It just goes on like this. Akechi fucks him with harsh and brutal thrusts into the table, rocking it so hard that Akira fears he’s not the only one that’s going to break with the brutal motions. 

Deliriously, he wishes he could reach out for Akechi, tug his hair or wind his arms around him so he has _something_ to anchor the desire taking hold of him, but his hands are still tied and he can only arch into what he’s being given, to try and entice Akechi to roam his hands over his body since it’s clear he’s not going to get released any time soon. 

Akechi cums before Akira with a shaky groan. He thinks Akechi’s going to pull out, but the other simply picks up his thrusts again, grabbing Akira’s ankle from where it had interlocked around his waist to hold it high over his shoulder instead. 

“What, did you think I was _done_?” 

Akira throws his head back as Akechi fucking bites into his calve like a madman, cries out when the cock inside of him hits a different angle due to that.

Blazing stars dance across his vision as Akechi steadily ramms against that spot, his cock still throbbing, still pulsating with so much life that it leaves him breathless. Release hits Akira a few seconds later, and he shudders and restricts around Akechi’s cock, unable to catch up with all the sensations happening too fast and wanting so much of him. 

Akechi makes true of his promise. 

He fucks Akira against every surface until Akira’s sure there isn’t something left that isn’t soiled by questionable liquid to some degree. Akechi takes him apart against the lockers, roughly bends Akira over the bench to drill inside of him. At some point he’s discovered his hands can do other things aside from restraining Akira, so he starts to mercilessly roam his entire body, teasing his nipples, kneading chest and thighs and whatever he can reach. 

_Mine._

Akechi sits down on the floor to have Akira use whatever strength is left to have him bounce on top of him, and when Akira crumbles, body shuddering in overstimulation and exhaustion, he simply opts to use Akira like a doll, settling two hands so harshly around his waist where they fit so fucking perfectly that Akira cries for bruises to keep.

He’s long lost track of time, the entire world reduced to the feel of Akechi whispering or groaning into his ear, fucking into him, _filling_ into him.

_Mine, mine, mine._

Filthy praises and promises reverberate around the room alongside the sound of their flesh dragging across each other. 

Their clothes had long been discarded at some point – it could have been when Akechi wanted to mark up his entire backside as well, or when he’d finally decided to free Akira out of his belt, causing Akira to immediately pounce on him and get his stupid suit off so he can _touch_ and _feel_ even better, commit the smallest everything to memory because he’s become a slave to the desperate passion driving them. 

Akechi marks him, inside and out, teeth going onto every part of his body until Akira _feels_ like some part of him belongs to Akechi, irreversible and forever.

_You're mine, Joker._

He doesn’t know how many times he’s cum, but he thinks he’s been a rag doll for Akechi to fuck for quite some time now. Not that Akira cares too much – it’s sinful, how dissociated yet connected he feels with it all, simply letting himself be used while drowning in waves of pleasure. 

Though at some point Akechi _doesn’t_ pick Akira up again, doesn’t growl filthy praise and observations into his ear as he fills him with another load of cum.

It takes a while for Akira to regain some semblance of feeling inside of his limbs back after Akechi took it all for himself. 

He blinks, groans at the insistent throbbing and aching all over his body. There’s cum quite literally spilling out of him, and he doesn’t know if the sight of his stomach protruding just the tiniest bit is a placebo effect or _actually_ the result of how many times Akechi came inside him.

Realization worms its way past the planes of his utter exhaustion. They were supposed to save Kasumi and they’ve fucked for what felt like _hours._ Akira doesn’t only feel _bad,_ but he also feels like he could just roll over and sleep for an entire week regardless of the fact he’s splayed on the floor.

But the humiliation of probably looking like a walking human wreck and the reason for coming here all moves into the background when Akira pulls himself up despite his body’s vehement protests and sees Akechi at the corner of the room, one knee pulled up against him.

Any trace of the maddening creature that gave Akira quite literally the fuck of his life is gone, leaving behind something frighteningly human.

Akira’s heart constricts at the sight. 

The rest of hazy pleasure fades away as he manages to drag himself up, surreptitiously having to cough because his throat is utterly dry and _raw._

Akechi forced his cock down his throat one or two times, and he hadn’t been exactly gentle.

“Akechi,” he croaks, making a weak effort to reach out for him. Fuck, he’s going to be sore for _days._ The guilt doesn’t make it better, settling into him like loud cracks of ice. He swallows. “Are you- are you ok?”

The question sounds utterly dumb now that he’s spoken it. 

But Akira can’t take it back and is left to watch and observe, helpless.

He expects Akechi to not respond at all. He’s clearly somewhere far away, eyes dark from where they peek through his messed up bangs. 

But his head snaps into Akira’s direction immediately, rage flickering on his face like glowing embers.

“Do I look like I’m _ok_ , Joker?” Akechi averts his gaze and gives a humorless laugh.

He slowly leans his head onto the locker behind him to stare up. His voice sounds used, far from the playful and dark lilt he dipped it into earlier. It’s like a splash of frozen water. 

“I just-” Akechi breaks off, stumbles over words and expressions like a child that just learned to speak, “ _forced_ myself onto you for hours. Called you all sorts of names and insults. I am most definitely not _ok.”_

He laughs again. “Does that satisfy your question?”

Akira needs to salvage this. The foolish part of him hoped post-ailment-sex Akechi would simply snap at him. Anger - _reasonable_ anger - is something he can handle and will face the consequences for. 

Not that Akechi isn’t angry right now – but this sounds _worse_ , the way his shoulders are trembling the slightest bit, how _brittle_ his voice sounds beneath the thin ice he coats them in, and it breaches a territory where Akira’s feels like he’s dancing on glass shards.

Akira scrambles for words. “You didn’t rape me,” is the first thing he gets out. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t say I wanted this-” he winces when Akechi’s tremors worsen, “Sorry. Poor phrasing. What I mean to say is that I didn’t necessarily want it to be like _this._ I do want you, you know? Just… with you being conscious of your actions.”

He feels Akechi’s eye pierce him. Akira would flinch at the intensity, but he lost some of his body's natural reactions for quite some time now. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel exposed, more so than his state of undress suggests.

He sucks in a breath. “I still didn’t mind this,” Akira adds, going for something gentler. 

Akechi remains silent.

It then suddenly occurs to Akira that maybe _Akechi_ didn’t want any of this, that Akira had completely misunderstood everything that happened over the past months and it’s really just been mindless flirting and that he just basically dug a hole so deep it could swallow him and the world whole.

Desperation claws at him.

“Akechi, talk to me.” Akira murmurs, trying to blink away his tears. Fuck, he feels pathetic. “Please.”

He’'s not above begging right now. Akira's done plenty of it.

He needs to at least hear that what Akira said was _wrong_ which would confirm his worst suspicions. 

But this uncertainty, this big question mark hovering above them is torture, leaves Akira as helpless as a fish on land. 

Using the bits of energy he recovered, he drags himself towards Akechi. Slow, so Akechi knows what he’s doing and could pull back. 

He’s sure he makes for a pathetic sight – crawling, on his knees, body wrecked in a decidedly unseemly manner. But it’s worth it because while Akechi’s eyes harden, he doesn’t flinch when Akira’s by his side.

Akechi looks – tired, up close. Like he’s just gotten out of the fight he didn’t win, marks and bruises all over him. 

It’s not exactly regret that mirrors in his cold, ruby eyes, but something else, darker, more profound. All laced with a base exhaustion Akira feels tugging at his own limbs, dragging him down.

Taking a deep breath and what must be his last chance, Akira reaches for the hand Akechi’s been staring at.

_Please don’t fuck this up._

“Talk to me. Please, Akechi. I can only figure out so much on my own.”

Akechi’s hand stays limp in his, but hope flutters feebly in his chest because the other doesn’t pull away. 

He looks at their connection like it’s something unfamiliar, odd. Which it is, Akira dully notes. They’ve probably fucked in every way possible, and yet he couldn’t recall a single time they did something as trivial as… holding hands. 

They didn’t even _kiss._

“I wasn’t… entirely out of control,” Akechi begins, words sounding heavy. Like he’s dragging them upwards from somewhere deep inside of him. “I could still influence it somewhat.”

Akira processes the information.

“Ahh,” he finally says after a minute, smiling a little because he can’t help himself. This means-

“I’m glad.”

The hand underneath twitches, like it wants to pull away, so Akira tightens his grasp.

“What do you mean _I’m glad?_ ” Akechi snarls at him. Despite the harsh tone of his voice, it holds not enough bite for Akira to let go.

He drives his thumb over Akechi’s knuckles, admiring the few scars he sees there. He wonders where he got them from. Will Akechi ever tell him? Let him in to see such small, trivial parts of himself?

Akechi continues, almost babbling at this point. As if his chest had constricted earlier and is now letting everything overflow, too fast for Akechi's usual filter to stop.

“It means that if I wanted to, I could have just- could have just taken the relax gel, even if that would have required an immense amount of self control. But I didn’t. I just let it happen. I let my desires take hold of me, watched it all unfold while not doing anything. You were at my complete mercy. Helpless. And I _liked_ it. Seeing you beneath me, seeing you…” He breaks off with a shudder that takes hold of his entire system. “It’s- this is my fault.”

This is as close as Akechi would get to apologizing, Ren realizes.

He also realizes that Akechi’s guilt is stemming from a _different_ reason, and relief floods heavily through Ren, lifts the fog of despair and guilt that nearly coaxed tears forth.

“You talk like you’ve just-” Akira wants to say _killed me_ , but that was true in several ways and maybe a joke for when they’ve both healed enough, “- stolen a small kid’s lollipop. After giving it to them, of course. Because that’s extra cruel.”

Akechi’s glare could probably melt obsidian.

A laugh bubbles in Akira’s throat.

This is ridiculous. 

“Joker. Can you be fucking serious for once in the sad excuse that is your life?”

“I’m am,” Akira quickly says to not agitate him further. And then, “ _I_ _’m glad_ you were still in control because then I didn’t just let a mindless beast fuck me. It means that it was still _you_ the entire time. Just, backseat driving?”

Akechi’s eyes stare at him with poorly concealed bewilderment this time. Like he can’t decide if he should be angry or surprised or _murderous_ or all at once.

How many clues does he need?

Akira sighs, readying himself.

“Akechi. I really, really _like_ you.” He figures _love_ might be a little too much at the moment. Too early, too brittle, too son. “I've wanted to do this since _forever._ With or without status ailment. _Especially_ without, but I can’t say I wasn’t guilty for not exploiting this opportunity a little. I’m… sorry for that. But for the rest? I’m not.”

Akechi’s quiet for the longest of time, calculating something that’s beyond Akira’s reach. But now that most of the fear is gone, Akira’s just so tired and exhausted that… he wants to end whatever this is. 

He’s sick of playing pretend and cat and mouse. 

Seeing as Akechi’s still silent, Akira nudges Akechi’s bent up leg, and when the other finally gives in (probably just so Akira’s not annoying him anymore), he’s dragging himself half across his lap, resting his head in it and sighing. 

Awkward silence never felt this good.

“...we’re both still naked,” Akechi bluntly observes.

“I know.” 

“There’s drool and semen and some blood all over us.”

“I know,” Akira quips back, and stays in his place.

It _is_ a little weird, but it’s weirdly comforting as well. Something that doesn't really need a name. 

Akira drags his gaze from the ceiling towards a curtain of damp, brown hair which are unable to hide a pair of stormy red eyes, scrutinizing him. 

“For a detective you’re unbelievably dense,” Akira murmurs. “Even Ryuji figured it out.”

“Don’t bring up Sakamoto’s name,” Akechi curtly says. 

The response still comes a little slow, a little broken, but he’s yanking at Akira’s hair to make up for that. 

Akira winces, the action not being that sexy anymore now that he feels like one truck and one plane rolled over him. 

“Not after…” Akechi averts his gaze. “Not after all this.”

“Sorry,” Akira says, reflexively.

“No.” Akechi’s words sound strained, but in a different way. “Don’t apologize.”

Akechi probably doesn’t really mean him mentioning Ryuji, and Akira’s not sure _what_ he means, but he’ll take it. Akechi has started to card his hand through Akira’s hair – slowly, hesitant, as if asking for permission and waging his reaction afterwards.

So different from how brazenly confident he usually is. 

But it’s nice, and Akira feels like he can finally close his eyes, basking in the weirdness of their situation.

Normal doesn’t do them justice anyway.

“Do you feel a bit better?” Akira asks after an intangible amount of time has passed.

Akechi’s answer is a mere rumble

“... I’m getting there.”

Akira manages a weak smile, one he somehow knows Akechi mirrors just a little, too.

"You know, I'm still able to remember my name."

_"Kurusu."_

**Author's Note:**

> Aaah I hope I managed to wrestle a little with Top Drop? I got inspired by a twitter thread and wanted to try myself on it a little and sincerely hope it didn't turn out horrible. The mood swing might have been a bit fast and I take responsibility for that, but I cannot write angst like that for my life. 
> 
> The series is coming to an end but I'm actually a little proud over Day 7. Please look forward to it and thank you for being with me until now and everyone who already commented! I cannot thank you enough, I know how hard that is!
> 
> [My (mostly) Akeshu twitter!](https://twitter.com/voraciousTash)


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